Pretty Boy Floyd

by Larry McMurtry

  “What about deputies?” Charley asked. “It was a deputy I had to shoot, up in Ohio.”

  “They ain’t got no deputy in Enid,” Birdwell assured him.

  “Are you sure, Bird?” Charley questioned. “I can’t afford no mistakes, this time.”

  “They ain’t got no deputy ’cause he drank lye and died,” Birdwell said, getting a little impatient with so many questions. “It was in all the papers—Red will tell you.”

  “They could’ve hired another deputy,” Charley pointed out. “We better make sure. I don’t want to look up and see some fat cop pointing a gat at my head. That’s another thing, Bird—why do you suppose so many cops are fat?”

  “Bud, you worry too much,” Birdwell told him, ignoring the question. “Now, that ain’t to say we shouldn’t plan, I’m a firm believer in plannin’.”

  “Why’d that deputy drink lye?” Charley inquired.

  “Thought it was moonshine,” Birdwell said. “He drank half the jug before he realized his mistake.”

  “Uh-oh,” Charley said suddenly. “We need to check the back door.”

  “What back door?” Birdwell asked.

  “The back door of the bank in Enid,” Charley said. “I thought you believed in plannin’.”

  “Except on days when I break my collarbone,” Birdwell said, with a twinkle. “All I believe in is booze and pussy, on those days.”

  “I can take a hint,” Charley said. “I’ll go bunk in my car.”

  Birdwell cast a fond eye at Whizbang Red, who was sound asleep and snoring lightly.

  “You can bunk where you want to,” Birdwell said. “I was thinking of going out on the town, myself. I don’t aim to sleep my life away.”

  Charley had been thinking about rolling back over to the Dew Drop Inn himself, and having another dance or two. He had noticed a pretty little brunette that all the cowboys wanted to dance with. Now that he had warmed up by dancing with Red, he might try to get a dance with the brunette whore.

  “What about Red?” Charley asked.

  Birdwell cocked an eye in Red’s direction and grinned.

  “Looks to me like Red’s asleep. Anyway, me and her ain’t married,” Birdwell said.

  “You don’t say?” Charley said. “Let’s go.”

  They arrived back at the Dew Drop Inn only to discover that there had been a large-scale fight. Half the tables were smashed, and several cowboys nursed swollen eyes and busted lips. The brunette whore was sitting over in a corner with sawdust on her skirt, crying her eyes out.

  “Aw,” Charley said. “I think I’ll go try to cheer up that little lady.”

  “I was having the very same thought, only I seen her first,” Birdwell said.

  “Oh, can it, Bird,” Charley said. “You can’t pull that on me this time. I got as much right as you do to rob a bank, and I got as much right as you do to try and cheer up that gal.”

  “On the other hand, I’m cuter than you,” Birdwell said, doing a little dance step for the lady’s benefit. “She might cheer up quicker if she had someone real cute to entertain her.”

  “I know you’re dandy, but I expect I’m cute enough,” Charley said.

  Rather than argue the matter further, he walked over to the whore, and offered his handkerchief.

  “Ma’am, can I be of assistance?” Charley asked.

  When the whore looked up, Charley had to admit she wasn’t quite as pretty as he had been picturing her in his head.

  “Go stick your dick through a knothole,” she said. “Who asked you to butt in?”

  “I told you you wasn’t cute enough,” Birdwell said. He had strolled up behind Charley. He smiled his most winning smile, and tipped his hat to the whore.

  “Gimme that six bits you owe me, George,” the whore said.

  “What six bits?” George asked, looking as innocent as a four-year-old—or trying to.

  “That six bits you never paid me in Muskogee,” the whore said. “You know what six bits. I ain’t a sucker like Red, I’m a workin’ girl.”

  About that time, a bowlegged old cowboy with a blotchy face came up, and took a wild swing at Charley. The cowboy was so drunk he missed completely, and wandered out onto the dance floor. He swung at the first dancers he came to, but he missed again. A big fellow with a paunch stopped two-stepping long enough to pop the old man in the jaw, flattening him.

  “Oops, Old Man Taylor oughtn’t have bothered Winfield,” George observed. “Winfield will box him if he has to.”

  “Where’s the six bits, George?” the brunette whore insisted. “Pussy costs just as much in Muskogee as it does anywhere else.”

  “I can still remember when you thought of something besides money, Flo,” George said. But he dug the money out of his pocket, and gave it to her.

  “I only come over here ’cause you was crying,” Charley told her. “I didn’t invite no insults.”

  “I’ll cry if I want to, cornbread!” the whore said, acidly.

  “This place ain’t as friendly as I thought it was,” Charley mumbled. “I wish I’d stayed at the hotel.”

  “We can cruise on out of here,” Birdwell said. “There’s a place over in Lawton that stays open all night. Maybe the whores ain’t so grouchy, over in Lawton.”

  “Let’s drive,” Charley said, heading for the door.

  25

  Charley arranged to meet the train in Tahlequah. He thought it was safer than having Rose bring Beulah all the way to Sallisaw. Bob Bird-well had done him the favor of wiring the trainfare up to Ohio the day before he and George pulled the bank job in Enid. George might talk casual, but when it came time to work, he was all business. The two of them were in the Enid bank less than two minutes, and got away with nearly three thousand dollars in small bills. The sheriff, as George had predicted, was visiting his girlfriend, and no deputy had been hired to replace the one who drank the lye.

  Beulah still had a bandage over one eye. Tears leaked out from under the bandage when Charley spoke to her, and took her in his arms.

  “Oh, Charley,” Beulah said, hugging him tight. “I thought I’d die from missing you.”

  “Honey, we got to scat,” Charley said. “Somebody from ’round Sallisaw could step off this train and recognize me. I got an aunt lives in Tahlequah.”

  In the car, Beulah clung to Charley, shaking like a leaf, while Bird-well drove.

  “It’s a long way down from Ohio,” Rose said. Other than that, she didn’t say much, but Charley could tell she was glad to see him.

  “These little gals need a rest,” Birdwell said. “Let’s take ’em home to Bob.”

  “Does Bob run a hotel?” Beulah asked. Her one blue eye, the one that wasn’t bandaged over, looked scared.

  “You’ve lost weight, looks like,” Charley said. He was not used to Beulah being so subdued. Usually, Beulah made all the conversation—all he had to do was grunt once in a while.

  “Getting shot in the head kinda takes your appetite,” Beulah replied.

  “I guess it would,” Charley admitted. It shocked him that Beulah had lost so much of her brass. He missed her yapping, among other things. He wasn’t sure that going to Bob Birdwell’s was such a good idea. Bob Birdwell didn’t impress him as being the kind of woman who welcomed carloads of company.

  “Maybe we ought to take them on to Brad and Bessie’s,” Charley said. “They’re expecting us, and Bob ain’t.”

  He had decided Beulah and Rose ought to stay with Brad and Bessie while Beulah recovered from her injury. That way, they’d at least be in Oklahoma, and he’d get to see them. Birdwell acted like he didn’t hear Charley’s remark.

  Charley was apologetic when they drove up to the Birdwell farmhouse. It was clear that Bob had no idea her husband was even in their part of the country. She was doing a big washing on the back porch, scrubbing the clothes on an old scrub board, and putting them through a wringer. The kids, meanwhile, were in the backyard, throwing mud pies at one another.

  “It’s
a good thing I’m a washin’ fool,” Bob said, when the car drove up. “I’ll barely get this load done before I’ll have to start scraping the mud pies off those tykes.”

  Her shoes still weren’t laced, but at least she was in a welcoming temper. There was a ham bone and butter beans on the stove. Bob complimented Beulah and Rose on their frocks.

  So far, though, Charley had not seen Bob even so much as look at her husband. The kids looked at George, though. The two that could walk jumped in his arms, mud pies and all, and George gave them both big kisses before he picked up Baby Jessie.

  “George, stick some money under the churn before you leave,” Bob said, as she was dishing up butter beans. “Our hens ain’t layin’, I’m gonna have to start buying eggs.”

  “Buyin’ eggs? When you live on a damn farm? I never heard of such expense,” George said. He looked grouchy at the thought of having to shell out for eggs.

  Bird never said another word to Bob during the visit—nor did Bob say another word to Bird. About an hour later, just before they left, Charley saw George slip two bills into the sugar jar.

  “I thought you was supposed to put that money under the churn,” Charley said, as he and Bird stood on the porch smoking, waiting for Beulah and Rose to finish prettying themselves up.

  “What money?” Birdwell asked.

  “You was supposed to put Bob’s egg money under the churn,” Charley said. “But you didn’t, you put it in the sugar jar.”

  “If that woman thinks she’s gettin’ money out of me to buy an egg, she’s got another think a’coming,” Birdwell said. “If I ever start giving her money for things like eggs, she’ll bleed me dry in a month.”

  “Eggs don’t cost much, do they?” Charley asked.

  “You pay for the hen, you’re supposed to get the dern eggs free,” Birdwell said, sounding huffy.

  “If Bob went off and bought a bunch of worthless hens, that’s her lookout,” he added.

  Charley didn’t know what to say.

  “What about the money you put in the sugar jar?” Charley asked. “What was that for?”

  “That’s for me to know and you to wonder about,” Birdwell said, still in his huffy mode.

  The four of them were about to get in the car, when Birdwell suddenly changed his mind and decided to stay with Bob and the children. Charley was taken aback—they had planned to take Beulah and Rose to Bradley’s house, and then pull another bank job to help pay for Beulah’s doctor bills. Bird wanted to go over to Frederick, and rob the bank there.

  “But it’s your car,” Charley pointed out. “Mine’s down at Brad’s.”

  “Come back and get me in a day or two,” Bird said.

  “I don’t understand,” Charley said. “I thought we had a plan.”

  “We did, till Bob got it into her head to squander all our money on eggs,” Birdwell said.

  “What if I give her money for the eggs?” Charley offered. “It can’t be that much. Then we won’t have to change our plans.”

  “Who asked you to spoil my wife?” Birdwell said.

  “Gosh, I thought you loved her to pieces,” Charley said.

  “I do, but I may stop if she keeps on wastin’ money,” Birdwell said. “‘Night, girls. You hurry up and get well, Beulah, and don’t let nobody black your good eye.” He kissed the Baird sisters on the cheeks.

  “I don’t aim to, I usually do the eye blacking myself,” Beulah told him. “I blacked Charley’s once, with a shoe.”

  Bird went back in the house, still looking huffy.

  “I don’t get it,” Charley said, shaking his head, as they pulled out onto the highway. “All he talks about is how much he loves his wife, and then the only time he even speaks to her, it’s to complain about a little egg money.”

  “You don’t understand women, Charley,” Beulah observed. “How much farther is this place we’re looking for?”

  “We ain’t looking for no place, I’m takin’ you to my brother’s house till you get well,” Charley said. “You think I have to look for my own brother’s house?”

  “Shut up, it’s just an expression,” Beulah said.

  Charley felt confused. He wished women were simpler. Even Ruby wasn’t simple, really—it was only when he was far away, imagining her, that she seemed simple. At home, close up, he never knew when she might burst into tears, or when a fight might break out.

  “If he loves Bob so much, why doesn’t he show it?” Charley asked. “He didn’t even look at her when we drove up.

  “If I hadn’t so much as looked at you when you stepped off the train, how would you have felt?” he asked.

  “I’d have slapped you silly. So would Rose, wouldn’t you, Rose?” Beulah said to her sister.

  “I expect,” Rose said.

  “The point is, I ain’t Bob Birdwell,” Beulah said. “Maybe she don’t like her husband paying attention to her in public.

  “That don’t mean he don’t pay her attention in private,” she added.

  Back up the road, in the privacy of the Birdwell bedroom, Bird and Bob were paying one another some urgent attention. Bird had barely been willing to wait for the children to be put to bed before he started paying Bob her share of attention.

  “Why do I love you so much, you skinny little hussy?” Bird asked Bob, during a respite.

  “Because I keep your dick slick,” Bob said.

  “That’s one reason, but there might be others,” Bird allowed.

  “I doubt it, sweetie,” Bob replied.

  26

  “They’re real kind,” Beulah said with a sigh—she was referring to Bradley and Bessie. “Rose thinks so, too.”

  Rose, at the moment, was down in the kitchen with Bessie, peeling pears.

  “This is a decent room, ain’t it?” Charley asked. He was almost at his wit’s end with Beulah. He had even gone to Tulsa and bought her presents, but Beulah just wouldn’t perk up.

  “I don’t care much for the wallpaper, but it’s a decent room,” Beulah said. She looked out the window at the view, which was bleak. It was wintry and grey, no leaves on the trees. Bradley’s old milk cow was standing in the mud, licking a calf. A black pig was standing by the trough, waiting for Bessie to bring it some slop.

  “Then what is it?” Charley asked. “Why don’t you ever smile? What would it take to get you to be your old self?”

  Beulah shrugged. She was in an old flannel gown, sitting up in bed. Some days, she scarcely got out of bed at all.

  “I don’t have no idea,” she confessed. “I just feel blue.”

  “Everybody feels blue sometimes,” Charley said. “You think I don’t?”

  “Why would you feel blue, Charley?” Beulah asked. “All you got to do is run around with George Birdwell and rob banks. You robbed one just yesterday.”

  “That wasn’t much of a bank,” Charley said. “We only got seven hundred dollars.”

  “That’s seven hundred more than anybody’s handed me lately,” Beulah said.

  Charley lay on the bed, and put his arms around Beulah, tight. The doc had taken the bandage off her eye the week before, and the eye looked fine to him. There was a little scar on her temple, but it wasn’t bad. Beulah’s eyes were just as blue and pretty as ever—only now, instead of a twinkle, they looked as if big tears were about to form in them. Charley missed the twinkle, even if it was a mean twinkle most of the time.

  Charley slipped his hand under the covers. He tried a kiss and a feel, but Beulah didn’t respond. She kept looking out the window.

  “You need a shave,” she said. “Your whiskers are all scratchy.”

  “Why shave?” Charley asked. “Why do anything? All you do is lay here. I can’t make you laugh, I can’t get you excited, I can’t even make you mad. If you’re gonna be like this, I might as well grow a beard. At least it’d be something to do.”

  Beulah smiled a tiny smile when he said that.

  “Charley, are you frustrated?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I
’m frustrated!” Charley told her. “I want my girlfriend back.”

  Beulah put her hand on his cheek.

  “Was I a good girlfriend, Charley?” she asked.

  “Hon, you were the best girlfriend in America,” Charley replied. “You were cute as pie, and you still are.”

  “If I was such a good girlfriend, why’d you screw that old whore?” Beulah asked.

  “Who says I did—can’t you let that go?” Charley asked. “I’ve heard enough about that.”

  “Ha, got your goat,” Beulah said, showing some life. Charley didn’t answer.

  “I didn’t mean to start an argument,” he said. “I just want you to perk up. Ain’t there nothing I could buy you that might help?”

  He thought he was making some progress, but then, to his horror, two big tears rolled out of Beulah’s eyes. She put her face against his neck, and clutched him to her.

  “You shouldn’t have taken me no place where I’d get shot, Charley,” she sobbed.

  “Honey, how was I to know that deputy would pop up with a gat?” Charley said. This was another matter they had been over several times.

  “You shouldn’t have anyway,” Beulah insisted. “Me and Rose are just little chippies—we ain’t bank robbers. If that bullet had been aimed even a teensy bit better, I’d be dead. I’d have died right there in the street.”

  “But it wasn’t, and you didn’t,” Charley pointed out, as he had several times before.

  “You don’t know, you never been shot,” Beulah said. “Gettin’ that close to dying makes a person different. Sometimes I feel like I did die, and all this is just a dream or something.”

  Charley gave out a heavy sigh, and rolled away from her.

  “Honey, you didn’t die,” he said. “The doc says you’re fine. All you need to do is perk up.”

  “Docs don’t know everything,” Beulah informed him. “Why don’t you go feed that stupid black pig, and leave me alone.”

  “I don’t own that pig, it ain’t my job to slop it,” Charley told her. “Why don’t you bounce your ass out of that bed and go help Bessie with the pears, like Rose is doing?”